Familial Type
by STOPiamreading
Summary: Mark is dead. The Viewer is stuck in prison with Yancy. They severely guilt-trip yourself and Yancy comforts them. Can be seen as platonic or romantic. Gender neutral reader. Oneshot.


**Author's Note:**

The cover art is by caustic-synishade on Tumblr. Seriously check them out, their art's incredible, especially if you like Markiplier egos, and they are amazing fast at it.

I loved A Heist With Markiplier, and Yancy deserves all the love.

* * *

Prison life was surprisingly not bad.

There was a nice group of people I would (kill) _die_ for and a new best friend that I would have never met if Mark and I actually knew how to fly helicopter. The homey interior decorating the cell was a plus too.

I relax on the bottom bunk of my cell. It reminds me of Headquarters after a long day of planning for the heist, when I would finally be able to relax and talk with Mark. Those were my favorite times.

"Hey Mark?" I ask, getting answered by shuffling from the bunk above. I momentarily forgot that Mark was dead. "Sorry Yancy, forget I said anything".

A pair of legs with long socks and shiny black shoes dangle from above. Yancy nimbly leaps down and I sit up. How does he do that without falling or shattering his ankles? His eyes furrow in contemplation.

"Wasn't Mark the guy youse came in with?" Yancy asks hesitantly. I shuffle to the side to let Yancy sit beside me. He does, the bed dipping slightly under him. I'm surprised that he remembers such a random detail from when Mark and I first got to prison. Mark didn't even survive the first five minutes. Yancy must have had an eye on me since the very beginning, I muse.

"Yeah, he was." I glance at Yancy's concerned expression; his warm chocolate-brown eyes were the same as Mark: kind, inviting, and full of life. "You... remind me of him".

Yancy is silent for a moment. "Y'wanna talk about it? Youse don' have to if ya don't want to though", he says, giving me an easy out. I trusted Yancy more than anyone else. Hell, he was probably the only friend I had left. I take a deep breath.

"Mark was like a brother to me. We were partners in crime: literally. He never let me down or left me behind: not too much anyway. After we robbed a museum, we got caught and ended up here." I look down at my lap, clasping my hands together. Mark died so suddenly and he was my only friend for a long time. My chest tightens involuntarily. I didn't even know what happened to his body. After his death, I didn't feel much of anything. I was too busy getting used to prison life and appeasing the warden and becoming friends with Yancy. Or at least, I kept myself busy thus far.

"I'm sorry 'bout Mark. He must'a meant a lot to you. He sounds like a nice guy."

I smile in an attempt to ease Yancy's worry, but it ends up looking wistful. "You would have liked him. Both of you are into theatrics too; I bet he'd love seeing your musical number".

"Was Mark the one that got a good person like youse in 'ere?"

I scoff. "I wouldn't say I'm necessarily a 'good' person. I robbed museums, stole some priceless artifacts, and committed a ton of petty crime. I was the one that got Mark in here, _I_ made the wrong choice". I knew I should have chosen the car. Who knew that Mark didn't know how to fly a helicopter?

"I still think you're a good person. Look at me, I killed ma' mom and dad. 'S why I'm here. But youse- youse never hurt anybody. I'd say that's pretty good".

"But I hurt Mark."

My hands clench into tight fists. Mark was dead because of me. Mark always made me make the major decisions, even when it went against his own. He was the more meticulous one out of us. For the heist, he had a backup plan for every letter of the alphabet and he still gave me the ability to choose where to go. I trusted my instincts thus far, and it has served me well. But my last decision ended up leading Mark to his death.

Yancy puts a hand on mine. "Hey, it's not your fault. You didn't know that'd happen. The past isn't something to be trifled with… nor is it something you could change".

Tears start filling up my eyes. The pain of losing Mark, the survivors guilt they feel, and the empty void of loneliness with him gone hit me all at once: an overwhelming flood of emotion threatening to drown me. I didn't want to cry in front of Yancy.

I was going to apologize when I felt a pair of big, strong arms slowly wrap around their torso. Yancy holds me firmly in a warm embrace, pinning my arms together against his chest. I felt like a baby being rocked to sleep by its mother: comfortable, warm, and loved.

"It's okay, Y/N. Youse could trust me".

I crY for the first time in a long time.

* * *

Yancy continues holding me, neither of us wanting to let go. Yancy soothingly rubs my back as I continue clutching the white fabric of his T-shirt. I am admittedly calmer now, and the steady rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat lulls me into an almost meditative state.

"You really are one'a those familial types," Yancy mutters, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. I smile a little, thinking about how domestic Yancy and I are. If the guard were to walk by right now, I imagine that he would have a nosebleed at how adorable we both must look.

"You too".

Yancy pauses, pulling me closer towards him. He hums contently with an exhale. I can't see his face, but the smile in his voice is evident as he whispers, almost too quiet for me to hear.

...

"I guess I am".


End file.
